


À la vie, à la mort

by kittymannequin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Heavy Angst, Overwatch - Freeform, POV Second Person, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 08:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13050006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymannequin/pseuds/kittymannequin
Summary: Amélie Lacroix. A name you sometimes remember, one that brings you immense joy and tremendous pain. A name that, sometimes, reminds you that maybe somewhere, at some point in time, life used to be more than just one cold moment after another, one night of dreamless sleep followed by another. A name that slithers into your mind, rattles through your bones and shatters against the walls of your once beating heart.





	À la vie, à la mort

It starts out from nothing.

One moment you are here in the present, eyes searching, scanning through the crowd, your rifle tucked safely in your arms, fingers pressed tight around the cold metal ridges and everything is void of colour, grey and dark and you don’t feel the cold but you know you should because you can see the way your warm breath fogs up in the cold winter air.

The next moment you are somewhere miles away, years ago, and there’s colour everywhere around you, colour and warmth and you can almost feel the tingling of the hot summer sun upon your skin and the gentle yet strong arm slung around your waist.

And when you blink again you are back in the present so you squeeze the rifle and tug it closer to yourself, exhaling the deep breath you’d taken and slipping your visor on to take in the sights.

Reaper’s been arguing with Sombra over the com for some minutes now but you’ve managed to shut the sound out, determined to focus on nothing but the movement of your target in the crowd below you.

You’re just about to move, walk over to the edge and peer down to glance upon the people gathered on the square when you hear her.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come back here?” She says and the sound of her voice would probably make shivers erupt on your skin if you could still feel anything. The familiarity of it would even scare you, if feeling was something you dabbled in.

You’ve been waiting for her, it was just a matter of time before she’d be here. She’s always around, it seems. You think it has a lot to do with your past and maybe a little with something else but you’re not entirely sure.

She always shows up minutes before you’re about to do what you do best - take a life. And she always does her best to stop you, be it with words or her fists, her guns or the way her eyes are pleading and warm against your cold, lifeless ones.

“What do you want, pest?” You mumble, not even bothering to look behind and meet her eyes.

“Whatever it is you’re doing here today, I’m here to make sure you don’t succeed.” She says and you feel her presence closer this time, her voice steadier. “I will do whatever it takes to stop you.”

You chuckle at her words. “Chérie. I could have killed you a dozen times by now, if I’d wanted to. And you’re such a pest, I really should rid myself of you.”

You expect her to bite back, to jump on you with insults and harsh words like she always does, you expect her to give you some stupid speech about morals, rights-and-wrongs, something about a noble cause and a just life but you’re certainly not ready for her to place her hand so gently on your shoulder and when her arm comes around your waist and you feel her front pressed tight to your back, you’re not ready for the outburst of colour behind your eyelids or the flood of memories that follow.

One moment you’re here in the present, the greatest, deadliest assassin in the world, Widowmaker, and the next moment…You’re Amélie Lacroix.

And you remember her. You remember the first time your now late husband introduced you to this lively, pure thing, you remember the way she said ‘Cheers loves’ when she made a toast at your sixth wedding anniversary, you remember the sweetest smile and the cutest laugh and the way your heart used to clench just at the thought of her.

You remember you used to love your husband until she came along and gave meaning to love. It took a little over a year, it was slow and confusing and hard, so hard, but you made peace with the fact that you were slowly, steadily, falling in love with your husband’s friend and colleague. And you remember when the news of her disappearance came how you cried yourself to sleep every night after that day until one day you went missing too, and you were taken and beaten and broken until you were no longer you.

Her arms are steady around you, the quiet of the night calms you and for a moment you wish you’d just stayed dead. Because now all of it is back and you remember who you used to be, and you remember the things they did to you, and the things they made you do and now you know who you are and why some nights have always felt lonelier than the others and for that one moment, just for a second, you wish you didn’t remember because they made you a monster and now you finally feel like one.

“Lena.” You whisper her name into the night air and feel her freeze at the barely-there sound, only for her embrace to tighten a moment later.

“Amélie.” She murmurs. “You remember.” She mumbles then, her voice breaking as she slips slowly away from you, her arms coming to a stop on your waist as she urges you to turn around and meet her. When your eyes settle on her own, you remember what it means to feel. “Please, tell me you remember.”

“I-” You start, but Reaper’s loud voice on the com startles you both before you can say anything.

“ _Widowmaker, come in. Target’s on route towards you, be ready.”_

And just like that, you remember who you are now and in her eyes you see the exact moment she realizes that what you shared mere seconds ago is now just another memory you’ll tuck away and hope to never remember. If you tell them, they’ll make sure you don’t, you know that but… But you want to know it’s there, somewhere, deep inside. You want to know that you can still feel a little like Amélie and not just this monster that you’ve become.

“Amélie, please-” She tries again but you push her away, making her stumble and fall back on the floor, grunting in pain as she does.

You’re stepping away from her in seconds, gripping your rifle tight in one hand as you throw your hook towards the opposite roof with the other, but you can’t just run away without casting a last glance at her. And you do, you look carelessly over your shoulder as you jump off and you’re left wondering when that light you remember seeing in those eyes stopped shining so bright.

At the end of the day you go back to the hideout with another number under your name, they’re not even targets to you anymore, they’ve just become numbers you cross off a list you’re given and as you lie back in your small, dark room, surrounded by nothing but pale walls and deafening silence, you wonder how different your life could have been if only you had the chance to remain Amélie.

If only.

* * *

 

You try hard to ignore it, but the memories are back and you’d blame her if it wasn’t making you feel.

It’s strange and frightening at first, when you wake up in the middle of the night, on an unknown bed, in a cold, dark room somewhere in a basement, hiding from everyone and just waiting for another order to come in. At first you don’t recognize the bed or the room, sometimes it takes a minute or two for it all to come back but when it does, you’re reminded of the things they’ve done to you and the things you’ve done since.

But for those few minutes that it takes for you to remember, you are who you used to be. You are Amélie, you are loved and you are happy, and you love and crave and need. You are alive and living and for those few seconds you are the happiest you’ve been in years.

After a couple of months, you stop trying to ignore the memories. You let them come and go as they please, the flashbacks and the images flooding your mind until they’re everything you can think of and you actually have to blink them away lest you forget what you’re doing. You stop resisting your past and let it consume you.

When three months pass, you realize you actually welcome the memories. You realize you feel warmth or at least what warmth used to be when you remember something from your old life, or better yet, when her face just refuses to leave your mind no matter how hard you try to push her away.

It takes you three months to realize you are feeling again.

The next time you see her, it’s been four months and she looks just as obnoxiously cheery as ever and yet, you would give anything to have her just touch you again the way she used to or say your name like she did last time.

But she doesn’t.

She is everywhere after that. You see her every time you are sent out, always somewhere behind you, looking, observing, always waiting behind some corner or tracking you up on some roof. She’s always there and, albeit more reluctantly, she still fights you every time she must - sometimes she wins, sometimes you do, in fact, have to run away, and sometimes… sometimes you just don’t let her - but she doesn’t say a word and she doesn’t touch you and that makes you feel things you wish you could just lock away.

It takes you another two months to burst.

“Chérie, if you’re going to stalk me, at least try to be subtle about it.” You say quietly with your rifle in your hands, eye on the visor, painfully aware of her looming presence somewhere a couple of feet behind you. “You’re not doing a good job.”

“I’m not here to stalk you, I’m here to stop you.”

“You say that every time and yet, here we are again.” You chuckle. “It seems to me like you just don’t want to stop me, chéri.” There’s a good few more minutes of free time, the target’s not even supposed to be nearing your spotting location so you set your rifle down and stand up straight, looking over your shoulder. “Could it be… That you _want_ to be around me?”

She steps out from behind her cover, hands in her pockets and her brows furrowed as she keeps her eyes trained on yours. “I just want you to come back, Amélie.” She says and you’ve never heard her voice sound so sad, so broken and torn and just so not her in all the ways possible. When she moves even closer and you notice the way her eyes glimmer and the unshed tears are just begging to fall, you tense and squeeze the barrel of your rifle tighter. “I know you remember.”

You glance away, you don’t need to look into her eyes to know that she’s aware of everything and that she’s been waiting, patiently, and yet, you haven’t done anything. You remember, yes, but you’re still the same. You’re still a monster, and not the girl she remembers.

“ Amélie…” She mumbles, stepping closer and you feel more than you see her outstretched arm when her fingers slide over your skin and she tugs at your fingers, slipping her hand around yours and coaxing you to look at her. “Why won’t you come back?”

And it’s her eyes that disarm you completely because what you find there is so far from what you’ve expected that you think maybe… Just maybe, you can go back?

Because in her eyes there is nothing but compassion and a deeply rooted sadness that you know someone like her feels to their very core. But there is no disappointment, no fear, no anger. Just compassion. Maybe even acceptance. Maybe, if you look hard enough, if you let yourself really look, past what the monster in you refuses to see, maybe there’s even more than that in Lena’s eyes.

“Amélie.” She tries again, this time a little firmer, the fingers around your hand tightening their hold. “Please, come back, come with me and I promise, this will all be over. Just, just come back with me. Please, Amélie. I promise we will help you.”

But you’re not ready for those words yet. At least you don’t think you are. Because in the back of your mind there’s a nagging voice telling you that your only goal is to complete your mission and that Lena is a distraction. And that voice is so damn strong, so persistent that you blink, once, twice before looking at her again and tugging your hand away from her grasp, hissing and taking a step back. You won’t push her away this time, but you will run away again.

You always run.

“It’s too late for me, chérie.” You mumble though your voice is nothing like you remember it to be. “I don’t know how to come back anymore.”

One moment her eyes are piercing and sad and everything you are dying to hold on to but in the next you’re already flying through the air, reaching the next building with ease and Lena is just another fragment of your memories that you must push away.

The voice in the back of your head is far louder this time.

_Widowmaker. Your only purpose is to kill. You are a machine. You are a weapon._

Hours later you’re back in the hideout and Sombra keeps glancing at you with a look you don’t bother trying to decipher but the voice inside your head isn’t as loud anymore and Lena’s words somehow make it through all the walls, clinging to your heart and stirring something in you that you know you were never again supposed to feel.

Every mission after that, she is there.

She’s everywhere you look, in fact. You see her in everything, even if she is not there, and you hear her voice, you see the pleading in her eyes when you close your own and the softness of her touch still lingers where her fingers held your own.

And you start to think that maybe you can silence the voice in your head.

Maybe the memories can win. Maybe you can make new ones.

One day you wake up and decide that maybe is now a must and you are doing being what that cold, dead voice is telling you.

You are Amélie Lacroix and you deserve more.

* * *

 

It’s Christmas eve when you finally manage to slip away from everyone, and surprisingly enough, there is nowhere else you’re needed. It’s like even the Talon members are celebrating what most of the world is though you know better.

They’re not, really, they’re just paying less attention which is something you skillfully use when you sneak your way past some of the sentries walking around the hideout compound and make your way to the outskirts of the city.

It’s not like anyone would ask you where you’re going or why you’re sneaking around. Everyone knows who you are and they know better not to look your way when they see you passing by. You revel in their fear and the freedom that comes with it.

It takes you twenty minutes to get to the graveyard.

“Gérard.” You murmur softly as you place a single red rose on your husbands grave. “Mon amour.” You sigh, holding the bouquet with the rest of the roses tightly in your arms. “I’ve come to tell you that I am sorry.” You take a deep breath, knowing full well that as little as you can feel, it’s still overwhelming, after years of feeling nothing at all. “I am sorry for not coming here sooner. They… They made me forget, mon amour. But I remember now.” You’re sure you’d cry if you could. “I am tired, Gérard, I am so tired. The things I’ve done, they’re awful and devastating and if I could feel, I-” Your voice cuts off from the lump in your throat- “If I could feel I don’t think I’d allow myself to still be here.” You close your eyes, bringing the roses closer to your face, burying your nose in them for a moment before you take another look at the grave. “I am tired, Gérard. But I have come to tell you that I am ready to go back. I don’t care what they’ll try to do to me or how hard it will be to regain myself but I cannot do this anymore and I… I know you’d want me to be happy, Gérard, and someone… Lena…” Your lips quirk in the tiniest of smiles. “She is such a pest, mon amour, always around and always bugging me but she’s been trying so hard and I- I want to be happy, Gérard.”

You pull out one more rose from the bouquet and place it down next to the other one, brushing your fingers over the gravestone as you walk away.

It took a bit of researching and you’re sure Sombra’s had her fingers in your research, judging by how easily you’ve obtained the information you needed but before you know it you’re making your way to Lena’s apartment, the bouquet held firmly in your arms and more determination in you than you’ve ever had.

It’s wonderful, really, to feel something again. It’s even more wonderful to feel what you’re feeling right now.

You don’t bother with the conventionalities. You’re a stealthy assassin and you may not be here for a kill but you make sure you are not seen at all when you use your hook to pull yourself to the small balcony of Lena’s apartment, careful not to make any noise.

The sun’s gone down a while ago and in the dark of the night, you’re sure no one can see. Good.

You brace yourself, tightening your hold on the roses in your arm, and you bring your hand to knock on the large windowed door, peeking through to glance inside the brightly lit living room of Lena’s apartment but before your fingers actually rasp upon the glass you freeze in your motions, simply staring, your already faint breaths almost nonexistent.

She’s there, in the far corner of the room, sprawled on the couch with that big, annoying smile on her face and a certain glint in her eyes and if your heart was the thing it used to be, you’re sure by now it would be full and beating like a hurricane but- she’s not alone.

There’s a woman next to her, some pretty redhead whose smile matches Lena’s, with her hands in Lena’s hair and her leg throw over Lena’s own and the little courage that you’ve felt so far, the determination that pushed that horrible, cold voice away from your head, the strength that you’ve garnered in the past few months - all gone.

And you just Widowmaker again.

Broken. Alone. Dead.

You’re on your way back to the hideout within moments, the roses long forgotten in the first trash bin you stumbled upon.

This was all a mistake.

It was a mistake to think you could ever be free of who you really are.

You’re not the pretty girl who had a life, a husband, a career, friends who loved her and a girl she was falling desperately in love with.

You are Widowmaker. A machine. A weapon. A killer.

* * *

 

It takes four months for the memories to come again.

Lena doesn’t try that much anymore, but nevertheless, she is still there. You feel her presence even if she doesn’t approach you anymore. But you see her, here and there, behind a corner, across the street, in the cover of the darkness. She is a shadow behind you, following you everywhere you go, no matter how far you go.

You try to push it away harder than before. You fight the memories, pretend they aren’t real, you listen to the voice in your head and you tell yourself this is what you were born for and that people - no, things - like you are meant to always be alone. You tell yourself that everything you’ve done has been what you were born for and that you don’t regret anything.

For a while, it works.

Four months pass by and when you think it’s done for and this is it, she brings it all back again.

She runs after you in that same city, on an equally cold night, she’s fast and persistent and effortlessly follows after you until you’ve had enough of running because all you ever do is run and you’ve had enough, there’s nothing she can say, nothing she could possibly do to change it all again.

So you stop. You stop and you turn around and you fight her, as best as you can, you punch her and you take a hit or two until you’ve got her pinned against a wall, the barrel of your rifle pressing into her neck and once again, she takes you by surprise.

It’s just a moment, a flicker of light in her eyes, the tiniest twitch of her lips and a hitch of her breath and it all comes crashing down on you again.

The warmth she made you feel, the brush of her fingers against yours, the way her smile would invade your thoughts all day or how you’d see her in every face and every person you saw. You remember the monster you’ve become and thinking that maybe, _just maybe_ , you can stop being that monster.

She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at you. She looks away, eyes hiding from your gaze, lips trembling as she tries to scramble away from your hold.

And you let her.

She zaps away from you, disappearing into the dead of the night within seconds and it’s as if she wasn’t even there to begin with.

But the emptiness you feel, the ache somewhere deep inside you - it’s real. It’s there and it’s painful and no matter how hard you try, it won’t go away and you know that. You know that you are more than this, you know that this is not who you are supposed to be, no matter how hard they’ve tried to put it in your head, no matter how hard you made yourself believe it.

You are more than this.

* * *

 

You don’t see Lena for the longest time.

Every mission since then goes awry, you make sure of it. Or at least you think you do. Somehow it feels like you have help from the side, you’re not really sure who from, but there’s always something there for you to use as an excuse and before long, you’re not who they meant for you to be.

They get you back on that table and you tell yourself that if you just endure, just a little longer, just a little harder, you will pull through.

They don’t get far but you pretend well enough and when they tell you who to kill next, you make sure to do your best to convince them that you’ve done your job. Somehow you manage to keep the target alive long enough for them to escape and when they do, someone else is blamed. For a bit longer, you are still the perfect machine in their eyes.

It’s not until Sombra approaches you a month later that you realize she’s been helping you all along. You always had a feeling about her and she still doesn’t tell you why exactly she’s doing this, she only says that ‘you have been robbed of so much’ and you have a feeling she knows the exact meaning of those words so you don’t question her or her motives anymore, you simply let her be on the side and do what she can to make this as easier for you as possible.

And so you spend all your time pretending.

Pretending you are still nothing more than a machine, pretending you don’t fall asleep at night with Lena’s face the only reason you’re doing this, pretending that the warmth you’re starting to feel more and more in your chest aren’t feelings.

You don’t listen to the voice in your head anymore, no matter how hard they try to condition you. They bring you back to the table more often, you notice, but you stay indifferent, not questioning their motives and they seem satisfied, for the most part. Luckily, they don’t send you on any mission for a while, and you’re grateful you get to be less of a monster.

You feel bits and pieces here and there, mostly how you remember joy should feel, excitement and deep, devastating sadness. It’s always there. Deeply rooted and woven through your veins, there to remind you who you’ve been for the longest time, what they made of you and what you still have to be in order for you to survive.

It’s months later that you find yourself on a mission, scouring the streets of Numbani, setting up at your spot and trying to find the quickest, least fatal exit for your target, when you hear the familiar sound of Lena’s chronal accelerator zapping nearer and nearer until she’s standing next to you, face a winded, cheeks puffy and eyes red.

She doesn’t look like herself and it worries you so much that the instant spread of the feeling through you makes you a little woozy. You’re not used to feeling so much and so intensely, you’ll have to work up to that when you start fixing your body but right now it might even be dangerous, Sombra’s told you, so you try to push the worry away, despite the fact that all you want to do is reach out and ask her what is wrong.

“You’re back.” She mumbles, trying to look casual as she leans against the wall. “Where have you been?”

You glance over your shoulder. “Away.” You murmur, voice thick. “Worried about me, chérie?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, taking a deep breathing before sighing. “I’ve always been worried about you, Amélie. I don’t think I’ll ever stop.” She glances away and there’s something really wrong, something weighing heavily on her heart and you can’t not ask, you can’t not know.

“Awh, chérie. So sweet.” You hum, taking out the parts for your rifle and putting them together slowly, fingers grazing over the metal as you try your best not to just turn around and walk over to her and do something that might put her in imminent danger.

Until you’re ready to break away, she mustn't be involved. Nobody should.

When you meet her eyes, she’s frowning, and you give her a smirk before you turn around and take a look through the scope, scanning the area. “So, chérie.” You start, unsure how exactly to proceed or even if you should. You do anyway. “You seem… Out of sorts. Something happen in that perfect little world of yours?”

If you could feel something so intense, you’re sure you’d hate the way you sound right now, the way you _are_ towards her now. You’d hate it because it’s not who you want to be, it’s not what she should be hearing. But it is for her safety.

You cannot risk Talon finding out until you make sure you’re out of the line of fire and nobody else can get shot because of you.

She sucks in a breath, as if she’s actually about to answer, but she only looks away and you catch a tear slip past her defenses and down her cheek and you actually have to crouch down not to fall because your barely beating heart aches, watching her like this. It aches, for her, and it’s actually painful, because of everything they’ve done to make it work the way it does now.

“Let’s just get this on already.” She mumbles before pushing herself away from the wall and advancing on you.

She fights differently, you realize, it’s like she’s not even in the fight this time, like she’s trying her hardest not to punch you and when she actually hits you, her fist connecting with your abdomen, you actually see her cringe, as if she’s the one doubling over and nearly collapsing.

She leaves you there, on your knees and heaving for air because you let her.

It’s another excuse not to finish what you came here for and that’s two flies your little spider web has caught.

Lena walks away thinking you’re still the same monster and your target actually gets to walk away.

* * *

 

It’s early in the winter when Sombra tells you that you have a shot at escaping.

You don’t waste a single moment before taking it.

Everything is planned and executed to perfection and she’s more than just someone who helps you.

She saves your life then and there, you know.

She does everything in her power so you can walk away and live another day, and you don’t ask how or why, but you do pull her in a stilted hug, grinning when she shivers because of your body’s temperature and tells you not to be sentimental because it’s bad for your health.

It’s all a blur when it happens, quick and careful and meticulous.

You’re out of the compound by yourself, stealthy and quiet when you sneak out, making good use of everything they’ve taught you, leaving nothing behind as you run away as fast as you can. Everything that you’ve been is left behind and the moment you step on that train that will lead you away from them, you feel lighter, you walk even faster and you don’t even look over your shoulder, knowing full well that Sombra will take care of everything that might show them where you are.

She’s already gotten the chip in your body, rendering it useless for them to use, and every trace of you ever running away is gone by the time the train reaches the next station.

By the lasts station, you never existed.

It’s a lot to take in at first, when you step off the train knowing that everything you’ve known so far is about to change so fast and so intensely. It’s not even a minute later that you’re greeted by a familiar face and that very change is like a second wind that you’ve been waiting on for years.

“Amélie Lacroix.”

“Angela Ziegler.”

You spend a good minute simply staring at her, trying to remember more than her name and her title. You can’t, not just yet.

In time, you will.

“I take it the trip was alright?” She asks as you walk away from the station together, taking each other in. You don’t say anything back but you only nod and she hums. “We’ll take you to our facility first, just to make sure you’re alright for now, and then I’ll be in charge of your recovery.”

She turns to meet your eyes as you reach the car and you actually smile at her, clearly taking her by surprise.

“Désolé.” You say as you sit down in the car, opposite her. “it’s a new thing, this whole feeling situation.”

She nods back at you, with a small smile playing at her lips, at then you’re away.

The Overwatch facility is far larger than you’d expected but you’re also surprised how well kept secret you turn out to be. Sombra has really thought of everything, you realize as Angela takes you around the place and lets you settle in your new quarters, far more comfortable than Talon ever could be.

Angela explains everything you might want to know and more, making sure to emphasize the importance of your safety and keeping you a secret until she’s made sure you’re back to your old self, healthy and able to keep yourself safe. She’s about to leave the large room you’ve been assigned when you call out to her.

“Yes?” She asks from the door, her eyes warm on you.

“Is,” You hesitate for a moment, but push the doubts and the fear away, remembering why you did all of this, “Is Lena Oxton here?”

Angela stares at you, confused momentarily, before nodding with a smile. “Would you like me to let her know you’re here?”

You ponder the idea at first but dismiss it within seconds. “Actually, could you just direct her to come here, please?” You sit down on your bed, brushing your fingers over the soft fabric. “I’d like to explain myself and everything to her personally. She… She means a lot to me.”

Angela nods again and walks away, leaving you to settle in.

You don’t have much with you, just your rifle that you don’t know exactly why you took but you suppose you can still make good use of it later on when you’ll work with Overwatch. If you’ll work with them.

You own just a few articles of clothing, nothing worth mentioning, and you put it away in mere seconds as you unpack. When you sit back down on the bed, taking in the room and your surroundings, you realize that this is finally what you’ve been waiting for. You’re finally away.

Things will be hard, you know that.

The treatment will hurt, Angela told you, and getting your body to work as it was always intended to is going to be one of the most painful things you will have ever endured but she’s exceptional at what she does and you’ve been through so much so far, you’ll make it through this too.

You don’t expect anything to happen with Lena. You know you don’t deserve to, all of what might have happened between you two was so long ago, and you’re sure she could never reciprocate those feelings, not when you’ve done so much wrong and been who you were. But you hope she can accept your apology and let you in her life at least. She has someone else and as much as it’ll hurt to feel that, you are content because she is happy and that’s all you could ask for.

“Amélie?”

Lena’s voice startles you, somewhat. You’re lost in your thoughts and when you look up to see her standing at the door, eyes wide and mouth agape, breathing fast and looking more confused than you could have ever imagined her, everything is worth it.

“Chérie.” You murmur, standing up from the bed. “Hello.”

She remains at the door, gaping at you until she takes a long, deep breath and reaches for the door frame, leaning against it.

“How?” She only asks.

You don’t know where to start so you simply shrug, smirking. “I had someone keep telling me to come back so I guess I had to listen?”

You don’t miss the way her breath hitches at your words.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.” You murmur, walking over to the wall and leaning against it, hugging yourself in your discomfort. “I tried-”

She zaps over before you even manage to blink and your words are cut short by her fierce, earth-shattering hug. And she doesn’t let go, not even when you feel her shudder because you’re so cold, not even when you feel a couple of her tears slip down to your skin, not even when you wrap your arms around her and tug her closer, closer, closer, embracing her as hard as you can.

She doesn’t let go and neither do you.

“Chérie-”

“I can’t believe you’re here.” She mumbles, lips ghosting over your neck. “It’s really you and you’re here. You’re back.” She continues, and for a moment you completely space out, her rambling overcome by the buzzing in your ears and the faintness you begin to feel when your eyes start to blur. “Amélie?” She mumbles, pulling back and staring up into your eyes. “Are you-”

“Feeling,” You start, voice heavy as you hold on to her, “It hurts.”

Realization dawns on her within seconds and you don’t really expect her to smile but she does and it so wide and warm and bright that the little of pain you feel is incomparable to the warmth spreading through you.

“You can feel again?”

You nod, aware of how close to her you still are.

She chuckles and hugs you close again, nuzzling your neck. “I’m so glad you’re back, Amélie.” She mumbles again and you think you feel her kiss your neck. “So happy.”

Before you can say anything she pulls back again and her hands slip to your neck, fingers brushing over your jaw when she tilts your head and pulls you down, capturing your lip between her own and kissing you.

It’s overwhelming. It’s painful, too, and you’re not sure your heart should be doing all this beating, at least not at this rate but really, you don’t care.

Lena pulls back before you can kiss her back, grinning up at you when your eyes meet.

“Lena, I,” You start, unsure what to say, “I thought you had someone.” You mumble, confused by your own nervousness. So many unfamiliar things assaulting your mind and body at once is certainly far too overwhelming and you’re sure Angela will have a lot to say about you exerting yourself so much so soon.

She glances away for a moment before turning back to look at you, her hands slipping around your neck and pulling your closer. “I couldn’t.” Silence beats between you for a moment. “I can’t.” She mumbles and you almost miss what she says next because it’s so tiny and quiet. “I can’t when I care this much for you.”

It catches you off guard. So does her next kiss.

And the next.

“Welcome back, Amélie.” She murmurs when she finally pulls away from you, minutes later, with a smile that makes it all worth it. “Welcome back.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Figured it was time to upload this little piece I wrote as a b-day present for my lovely girlfriend.  
> Just to clarify tho: I ship Tracer/Emily super hard and this fic in no way tries to erase their relationship, hence the AU and AU-Canon Divergence tags. This is simply a universe in which Lena and Emily just don't work. 
> 
> P.S. The story is inspired by Widowtracer art I saw on tumblr, two pieces actually, both found thanks to readers (THANK YOU SO MUCH GUYS):  
> artist's tumblr: @therealluxlin  
> second artist's tumblr: @trixdraws
> 
>  
> 
> Hola at me on tumblr @kittymannequin for more fanfiction :)


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